


(You're the) Angel on the Painted Glass

by cyanlana



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Asra (The Arcana) Route Spoilers, Asra pov, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, POV Third Person, Possessive Behavior, Pretty mild, but its hardly important, fan apprentice that is female, fellas is it love when it is love, very slight spoilers tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanlana/pseuds/cyanlana
Summary: Asra doesn’t understand that he could have everything he wanted, if only he asked.





	(You're the) Angel on the Painted Glass

**Author's Note:**

> “You make me forget that I’m not ready for love. Everytime I see you I just wrap myself around you.” 
> 
> This just kept getting longer.

It slips his mind, sometimes, how nothing is ever the same when you shut your eyes. The leaves change colors too quickly, and somehow he can’t remember why. It feels accidental, but there’s a buzzing in his head, that tells him it’s not; he knows why he doesn’t want to remember.

He needs to, and he does, but even that feels involuntary in it’s own way. The sun catches on her hair, and it’s so overgrown-- it brings him back. It’s long because time passes, and hair grows. He understands this, and himself, he knows that the worst is over.

“He didn’t seem too happy about it, and honestly what-”

Her voice is the same though; he hears it all the time now. He hears the rolling of wooden wheels outside, too, the birds; he feels the cool touch of Faust around his neck. _Warm_ , she says.

“So I told him, if you keep giving me bread, expect money.”, Asra nods over the rim of his cup, watching idly how she seems to glide around the room. He knows she’s watching him, even if it would seem like she wasn’t to an untrained eye. She never wants to sit still.

“And I just know I must look as good as the bread. I can’t seem to escape my admirers.” She says, her eyes slyly darting to meet his, it doesn’t linger at all, and she continues to spin around their shop, grabbing bottles and moving things around.

He feels his face warm the slightest bit, keeping his eyes trained on her moving figure despite that. _Warm!_ Faust sings it this time, and Asra wonders how even his own familiar is in on it.

He also feels the slightest irritation, once he takes a second to reconsider her last statement. He knows she was talking about him, about his own inability—disinterest— at being at-all subtle, but he also knows that she wasn’t totally kidding either. Robyn had a way of attracting attention, whether she meant to or not, and it didn’t help that she had a heart of gold. All of Vesuvia knew it, knew her, and it wasn’t uncommon for her to start a conversation that would take all day to finish. She wants him to be aware of the fact that she’s wanted, admired, by many. Even the Countess was enamoured by her at one point, and he finds that it’s unsurprising.

He smells the scent of her lilac perfumes as she comes to a standstill right beside him. He turns his body away from the table and towards her, and she wastes no time is stepping directly into his space. “Maybe I should start wearing a sack everywhere, no one would pay attention to me then.” Her tone is teasing.

Asra sighs in mock exasperation, moving his hand to rest on her waist, his face set in contemplation and deep thought. “I’m afraid not, it would only bring attention to the lovely features on your face.”

Robyn gasps, a look of utter surprise and distress, “What ever should I do then? There may be no solution to my predicament. You must help me wise magician.” She throws her head back, the back of her left hand resting daintily and dramatically on her forehead, as if she were about to faint at the mere thought.

Asra’s grasp on her waist tightens, and at the same time catches the sight of her throat as it seems to tighten. In anticipation?

He clears his own, “Not even the most talented of us would be able to help someone as fair as you escape these admirers you speak of, even if you were to somehow cover your face too, your compassion would win them over, surley.”

 _Angel!_ Faust supplies, using his arm as a bridge to move onto her neck.

She falls into a fit of giggles, moving her hands onto his own. She looks dead at him, a smile now curved out into her features. If it weren't for her now limiting his movement, he would have used a hand to touch to corner of the smile. “Maybe I should just stay here with you then.”

“They’d come looking for you, I’m afraid. We’d need to run away, somewhere no one knows of your radiance.” He says, his voice low and rough. She only brushes a piece of his hair away, quiet.

They look at eachother for another moment, and for a second Asra contemplates the idea of doing everything he’s been wanting to. She’s hard to read sometimes, but right now he likes everything he sees, and it seems she does too.

It doesn’t last. Her eyes grow dimmer, and he wishes he knew why, so that he could fix it. The bell over their door rings, and with one more squeeze he lets her go. She doesn’t seem to be around for the rest of the day.

 

-

 

The next time they’re in town, he can’t help but pay more attention to the way people watch her. She has a smile on her face the whole time, talking as much as usual, and he contributes his thoughts every now and then, but suddenly he doesn’t understand: her, or himself.

It’s after they leave the third shop, and seventh very long conversation with a citizen of Vesuvia, that he decides to ask.

“Why aren’t you with-” He gestures wildly, “You- know, someone.” That was harder to get out than he cares to admit.

If Robyn is caught off guard, she doesnt show it, and for once Asra is happy about it.

She shrugs, uncharacteristically quiet, “I guess I don’t want a someone. My tastes are reserved for particular, things.”

“Oh, then, you do have tastes then?” He asks as casually as possible, suddenly intrigued by the flowers of a bush nearby.

Robyn laughs, “Yeah.”

Maybe he should start paying attention to who she watches.

 

The rest of their day passes without incident, they finish their shopping, and help a couple more customers. Asra has been, vigilant, you could say, different in a way he usually is. Instead of watching her, he watches what she does. Disappointing results, is something he wishes was too soon to say, and it might be, but…

She hardly seems interested in anyone. No indication of actual romantic attraction to any of the people they crossed— and call him impatient, but this was important.

 

-

 

“Be honest Faust, I’m being annoying aren't I? I need to let it go?” Asra’s voice is nothing more than a whisper as he shelves a new bottle.

 _Honest._ She echoes. _You._

“I need to be honest.” He confirms, but it feels hopeless.

Things are not the same. For as much as he forgets, in moments of time where everything looks, almost, the same, they aren’t. _Sad?_ says Faust, he shrugs.

He trusts her with his life, and she trusts hers with his. He tells her as much as he can, when it comes to the facts, but with feelings he knows there’s no reason to lie. If she asked, he’d tell her anything she wanted to know, and maybe that’s the reason why she doesn’t.

He’s had no luck in trying to figure things out on his own. She really gives nothing away, there wasn’t anything to work with, but he does know one thing, he needs her to be happy.

She is, she tells him so, but every once in a while, like the other day, something is wrong. He feels like he’s looking at a picture with glasses that aren’t his, out of focus, confusing; it’s all very frustrating.

“Can you pass me that bottle.” He asks her, still distracted with the million thoughts he doesn’t know what to do with. Maybe feelings were useless, but he could at least keep them to himself.

“Yes master.” She says it without thinking, as she always does, and it upsets him how used to hearing it he is, how it almost doesn’t hurt anymore. Her tone is completely void, as of she has something on her mind too, and when he turns he sees her walking over with a book. It covers her face, her other hand holds the requested bottle.

“I told you I don’t like when you call me that.” He sounds off, a frown between his brows.

Robyn doesn’t pick up on it, humming distractedly, her eyes never leaving the pages. He waits another second before the urge takes over, and he pushes the book down, away from her eyes. They move up, along with her eyebrows in a “can-I-help-you” expression.

“I’m not your- I’m just Asra, can’t you say that? For me?” His hand still rests on her wrist.

He’s surprised to find that rather than compliance of any kind, he sees her looking at him-- rather coldly. It catches him so off-guard his hand goes falling back to his side.

“Maybe you haven't asked nicely.”

He can’t help but laugh nervously, “What-”, he’s asked so many times, in so many ways. He’s sure at least one of those times he’s said it _nice enough_.

She hums, staring at him with so much anticipation, expectation, that he wishes he there were a way to peer inside her head.

“I’m not sure you’ve asked nicely.” She repeats, more slow and deliberate than ever. Asra tilts his head, wishing to understand. “Or maybe you just haven’t asked the right way.” She finishes, tilting her own head in mock consideration.

Asra’s frown deepens, he really should’ve known better than to be so secretive with her all these years; she’s better at keeping things under wraps than he is. Her mouth slowly tilts up into a smile, but her eyes stay the same. She’s unhappy, about something and Asra is coming to the conclusion it must be about him.

She steps back, moving to replace the new space with her book once again. He stops her, grabbing hold of the book and shutting it completely, moving forward in a single movement.

“How should I ask then. Some of us weren't lucky to be born with so much understanding.” He takes another step forward, she takes another back. At least her eyes seem to be lit with amusement now, he thinks dejectedly.

“It’s no good if I tell you. The trip there is half the fun, but _you_ of all people should know that.” Back to gliding around their shop, she somehow manages not to bump into anything, despite not even looking.

“I disagree, sometimes I want nothing more than to arrive without having to wait at all.” He jumps forward, catching her from tripping over a pair of discarder shoes. She escapes him within another second.

“And where would that be?” she teases, stopping, but holding her hands out to stop him from coming any closer.

Asra stops along with her, holding his hands behind his back. He sees her chest heave slightly higher than usual as she breathes. “Back home, to you.”

He can’t help the smirk that rises at her reaction. She’s rolling her eyes, moving her hands to her hips in actual exasperation. “How long have you been waiting to use that one?”

He jumps at the opportunity, wrapping his previously resting arms around her middle, she shrieks, _surprise!_ exclames Faust.

“Only a few weeks.” He whispers in her ear. The goose bumps that rise a second later are more satisfying than he’ll ever admit.

He startles himself only a moment later, when she returns the gesture, finally wrapping her arms around his neck. He melts just as quickly. Her nose skims along the line of his jaw, her hands slide into the curls of his hair, he feels his own goose bumps rise. Her lips land delicately on the skin of his cheek near his ear and jaw. They leave a delicate kiss, so light he almost misses it.

“Master.” He holds his breath in anticipation, “Your pot is burning.”

 

-

 

“Please call me Asra, please.”

“I’ll buy you unlimited bread please call me Asra.”

“Faust says she’ll never plot with me again if you call me Asra.”

Are all the wrong ways to ask for your apprentices cooperation, Asra learns. Robyn seems to be enjoy watching him fail at cracking her impossible request.

How the hell else is he meant to ask? He’s thought about simply demanding her to, and although she’d probably comply, it wouldn't be the same. Not only was that driving him crazy, but he still hasn’t been able to make any progress on understanding what she meant by “reserved tastes”. Not even Faust seemed to sympathize with him at this point.

 _Honest._ is all she supplies.

He tries asking questions. Simple stuff, about her favorite things and such; it barely helps him make any headway with his investigation. He tries calling _her_ different names, dear, sweetheart, darling. She isn’t against any of it, but, she isn’t impressed, and she still refuses to call him by name.

He tries asking more bold questions, “What kind of gestures do you like?” She seems to be unmoved by that, so he tries a new approach. Less talking, more action.

It’s not uncommon that they hold hands, in the market, in bed in the morning, anywhere else. He still has a hard time forgiving himself for what happened, and at night the thoughts keep him up, his sleep schedule isn’t exactly concrete. Point is, it helped him those first few months to be able to hold onto her, and for her to hold back. She never blamed him for what happened, but no matter how much time he spends fixing what his negligence caused, there will always be a part of him that hates himself, that knows what happened is unforgivable.

He wants it to mean something else, he wants to hold her hand because he can, because they want to and for no other reason. Lately its been harder for him to hide that.

The eyes that follow her through the market can’t go without seeing him too, anymore. He wants to hold her hand, he wants people to know that even if she doesn’t have a “someone”, they’re in this together. It’s them against the world, at least for now.

This, is satisfying in more than one way. She seems to like it, and the aura of them together is radiant. He wants her, entirely. If people assume that they’re more than housemates, even while she wants to call him by that stupid title, so be it.

He catches her eyes, sometimes wondering if she is really okay with his… behavior. She only smiles.

 

She goes to the Rowdy Raven ever so often, with Ilya and Pasha. Normally he lets her go and enjoy the time away from him, he loves how independent she has always been, before and after everything that’s happened. He does hate how quiet the shop is while she’s gone, and he wonders how she manages while he’s on a trip.

She always comes home a little giggly, Ilya hanging off both her and Pasha, and honestly it’s funny how the girls always manage to drink him under the table. He says he isn’t a light weight, but, “Goodnight little snake, be good to Robyn, she is much more sensitive than she lets off.”

Asra leans against the door frame, waiting for them to situate themselves and say their goodbyes. “I don’t think she’s the one we need to worry about.” Asra comments, watching Julian spin around in the street.

It’s routine, and he actually doesn’t realize it until she doesn’t come home one night. He falls asleep in the living room waiting for the sound of them to come barreling down the street, and when the sunlight hits his face the next morning, he stands up in a panic. It’s obvious the house is empty, but he forces himself to calm down. She’s probably at Julians. He wishes the thought made him feel the slightest bit better.

He only has to wait minutes before the sound of voices outside startle him. Hes rushing to the front of the shop, and sees the door swing open a second later. Robyn and Julian stand outside, their faces tired. Asra sighs, his death grip on the door frame loosening a small bit.

“Farewell darling, until next week.” Julian says, wrapping Robyn in a hug that lifts her from the ground. Her face is flushed when she’s let down, and somewhat queasy looking, “I’m not sure I ever want to so much as look at that place again.”

Asra feels out of place, this is strange, like an intruder. Swallowing, he darts his eyes to the side for a second. When he looks back, Robyn is looking at him and Ilya seems content staring at her.

He waits for her to move, until it’s obvious she’s fine with standing around all day. He moves forward, reaching for Robyns hands, “I wouldn’t blame you, you look absolutely exhausted sweetheart.” He punctuates it by throwing a look Julian’s way, wishing he understood the need to indulge in so much drinking.

“Julian must’ve been practicing, I’d say. We drank the same amount, and somehow we both got drunk.” Her forehead lands on his shoulder with a groan. He notes that her speech is still slightly slurred.

Julian has the decency to look somewhat bashful, rocking back on his heels. “Sorry darling, I felt foolish being the only one stumbling home.” Darling, Asra notes, is something he says a lot.

Smiling as convincingly as he can, he hugs her to his chest and closes the rest of the space between them. He should thank Julian for taking care of her, right?

“I’ll give her a tea that should help.” He says instead, a heavy pause at the end. Or not.

Julian nods, “Ahh, guess I should head back home then.”

Robyns weak “Bye.” is muffled by the skin of Asras chest, and it’s then that he remembers how little he’s wearing. They move inside a second later, and she collapses on the couch without another sound. He stands at one end, trying to move her into a more comfortable position.

“Guess his place is closer than ours.” He comments, half-expecting her to already be asleep.

She responds quietly, “Yeah, he thought that one out.”

He hums, thinking a million muddled thoughts, realizes he’s probably still half asleep. She peaks a glance after a couple minutes, sees where he stands in silent thought, unmoved. “What’re you gonna do, jus’ stand around and watch me sleep all day?”

Asra shrugs, sitting down, “Maybe I’ll sit around and watch you instead.”

She grins, her eye shutting again. “You look good today. Better than me.”

He looks down at himself, scoffing, “You underestimate yourself.”

“Nah.” She says, shifting until her back is pressed against the back of the couch. “Lay with me.” Her arms are spread apart, and he wants to.

“Okay.”

He fits himself against her, and even the smell of alcohol doesn’t seem to bother him. They spend the morning there, and with the sunlight still in his face, the shop opens a bit later than usual.

 

The next time she goes out with them, he can’t keep himself from lingering around the door before she goes. She keeps giving him lingering looks, he thinks, and it’s hard not to fall to the floor and beg her to stay. He knows it’s irrational, and unfair, but he’s sees the way Julian looks at her, he knows that she probably feels something for him too. It’s very depressing, if he’s being honest.

He leaves his head resting on the top of hers for a few seconds more tonight, the hug a little tighter, she lets him.

“Ah- Master… why don’t you um, come with me tonight. I know it isn’t really your type of enjoyment but, you might actually like it.”

He deflates, rolling his eyes to the heavens with an expression that must scream of his petulance.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin your fun, dear. Maybe next time-”

He cuts himself short upon actually seeing her expression, she looks somber. The grip on his sleeves feels tighter than usual. That’s all it takes.

“But, why not. I haven't been out in a while.” Faust perkes up from under his scarf, _Out_?

She beams.

 

He doesn’t _regret_ coming, but he regrets learning what it is the three get up to when they’re out. More specifically, two of them. Julian is having the time of his life, downing mug after mug, making comments and never moving far. Him and Asra certainly put aside their differences in the past; he contemplates if it is worth making new ones.

He shakes his head, looking back down at the bar. He’s getting ahead of himself.

Robyn jumps from her seat, grabbing Asra by the arm on her way down, “We should dance. Show me some fancy footwork from a far away land.”

Asra wants to laugh, she seemed to have a grace that even the most talented dancers he has encountered didn't always posses. “Maybe not so fancy.” But he stands, following her to a space near where other people were—not exactly dancing, a bit too sloppy and uncoordinated for it to pass for that—and let her lead them.

It was fun, and he _definitely_ doesn’t let himself gloat at being the only one to dance with her.

He totals out with a single drink, and she seems to settle around four. Pasha and Ilya tease each other about their own drinking totals, as usual.

Robyn is extra bubbly tonight, even if she’s far from the most she’s ever drank. Asra is happy being there to hold onto her. He’s happy to walk home with them, he’s happy when they walk the rest of the way home alone. He’s nervous when Robyn begins to slow.

“Are you feeling alright, feeling sick?” Robyn scrunches her face up, shaking her head furiously.

“I need to tell you something.”

Asra nods, holding onto her hand.

“I would like you to ask.” She says, and Asra purses his lips, confusion growing. Maybe she was more drunk than he thought.

“Ask for what you want from me, master, and finally tell me what it is you want.”

His head snaps up quickly, and Robyn stares at him, her eyes filled with the same exact emotion he’s seen so many time before. Expectation.

“Are- are you referring to my request for you to, uh, call me by name?”

“Yes. That and the fact that you love me.”

Asra chokes on the air in his throat, glancing around to see if anyone was around to hear that. “We can talk about this tomorrow. I think, that, yes, tomorrow.” He attempts to drag her along.

Robyn looks entirely unimpressed, her feet stay planted on the spot.

“Master. I’m tired of calling you that, and I know you are too. I thought you’d figure it out on your own, but even I’m not this patient. Tell me what you want from me, and tell me why.”

She steps forward, pushing on his chest until they’re cornered against the bricking of a wall. Asra is sure his face is cherry red. “It isn’t so hard. Or maybe I’m wrong, tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll find someone else.” She says this with an impassive face, tilting her head this way and that, scanning over the unbuttoned area of his chest. “Would you like me to leave?”

Asra shakes his head, stopping her wandering hands with his own. “You know that I love you, but… it’s not so simple, dear, you know that there are some things— I don’t want you to find someone else.”

Robyn sighs, “You don’t want me, yet one else can have me. I see.” She’s barley whispering, but he can still hear the way her throat tightens, choking her words.

Asra hates himself more than ever. “I can’t.” He whispers into the night, “I hurt you before, you know this. Please don’t cry, please, Robyn.”

It’s too late, hot tears are rolling down her face, and yet she has a bitter smile on, “You don’t- you no longer view me the same way, then. Tell me, why can’t I have you Asra.”

He cringes at the sound of his name, something he’s wanted for so long, it sounds wrong in these circumstances.

“I want you more than anyone ever will, I’ve loved you- since I first laid eyes on you. I’m so sorry if I’ve made you doubt that. You’re an angel, but it’s difficult for me to forgive my-”

Robyns lips catch him off guard for a second. For a second, and then he notices how they’re soft and unyielding against his own and he can’t stop the way he responds immediately, the way he groans because the memory of this, the way he’d dreamt of her for every second she was gone, it means nothing to the real thing. He cant stop himself, he doesn’t want to pull away.

“You can break my heart if you’d like. Please Asra, please just don’t push me away.”

Asra feels how quickly his body temperature rises at hearing her say his name again. “I want to be what you want.” she says; he feels the way his heart aches in his chest beneath her hands.

“You are.” He responds, grabbing at the fabric of her shirt, under to her skin. The soft skin arches under his fingertips, barley refrains from grabbing on to her completely. From digging and holding onto her for the rest of their lives, from falling down, down,  _down._

“But I won’t let myself hurt you again.”

“Then don’t.”

They don’t stop kissing. His hands fit so well against the swell of her cheeks, sliding down to her neck, into her hair. He isn’t ashamed when she bites down on his neck and his heart cracks, feels himself burn.

He wants to ask for it all. He will.

 

-

 

“Robyn. Slow down.”

She giggles into the skin of his neck, licking a stripe up to his jaw. “You should know me better than that by now, _Asra_.”

He gasps, reaching for the sheets underneath them.

“I haven’t said it. Or I can’t remember saying it, but you know that I love you Asra, I always have.” _You know_ , she says. Does he?

He nods, rocking into the leg that was pressed against his groin. “I missed you, so much.”

She shushes him, “Me too.”

He opens his eyes for a second, trying to ground himself. It’s been a long while since anything like this has happened between them, he feels like it’s the first time.

It’s easy to forget how much things change when you shut your eyes. “We are so talking about this tomorrow, more, just- just so that you know.”

Robyns head pops up into his line of sight, away from its trail down his torso. “If you say so, love.”

Yeah, that was a name he could get behind. For now he was going to enjoy what he had right in front of him, what he doesn’t want to give up to anything. She owns his heart, literally.

They’d figure things out, they always did.

**Author's Note:**

> Coming back to edit this made me realize how I wrote this so quickly lmfaoooo. I think i got most of the mistakes. Thanks for reading <3
> 
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